pavlovian dogs
by jarofclay42
Summary: [AoKuro, Teikou Days, preslash!fic] Where Aomine Daiki has a major in Kurokology, and he tries to apply his wide knowledge to his everyday life and then face the pros and cons of it.


**This is what in my head I like to call 'pre-slash friendship' instead of 'platonic friendship', because the sound of the latter is just horribly bitter, and the first fills me with happiness. Vague, but happiness nonetheless.**

**This is very introspective, full of inexplicable Aomine's mind and body supernatural abilities to detect the invisible, overly-thinking!Aomine and, indeed, overly-invisible!Kuroko.**

**I totally blame every weirdness and incoherence you might find in the plot (and you will find them but since I couldn't solve them and I just left them there) on Aomine's mind being dark and full of terrors.**

**Betaed by sui (or Airway Static on FFnet), who was a very good beta =w= thank you!**

* * *

Everyone knows Tetsu is hard to notice.

Be it his thin and small physique, his exceedingly regular features, his quiet voice or his perpetually inexpressive face, Tetsu always manages to pass unperceived, most people not seeing him until he speaks up from nowhere or he positions himself right under their noses – and sometimes not even in those cases.

Tetsu's explanation for that, which everyone easily took as plausible, is that he doesn't give off any presence.

For a person who claims to be too normal, that is utterly _not_ normal. In a nutshell, Tetsu is a walking oxymoron.

Other possible reasons are still unknown to Daiki. But he mulls over this problem a long time, the longest he has ever dedicated to someone not himself, because it irks him that he's incapable of pinpointing Tetsu's whereabouts – that in this he's just like everyone else.

At first, he thinks it's because no one really cares to know where little, silent Kuroko is. No one cares enough whether he's there beside them or not, if he talks or if he listens; no one follows his movements, no one really thinks about him. It rarely happens that people look for him first. He just appears, sometimes, out of nowhere, in the middle of their circle of schoolmates and everyone accepts him into the circle, easily agreeing on the truth that he is the least noticeable person anyone has ever met – before huddling up again, forgetting his presence once more.

And Daiki wonders how it must feel, to pass your own life in the shadows, without anyone acknowledging you, your value as an individual, sometimes even forgetting you; classmates, professors. Once, Daiki goes to his classroom during the break just to greet him, pushed by an overly-altruistic Satsuki, and when he asks about Tetsu, half of the classmates have no idea who he's talking about or whether the guy came to school at all that day—so Daiki stomps away pissed off, slamming the classroom door shut and leaving behind him whispering students wondering if he was joking or not.

He wonders if his parents are like that too; if at dinnertime, at home, they sit down around the table and just then they ask each other, 'Did you hear Tetsuya coming home darling,' only to find he's already sat down composedly between them, fork in his hand and mouth already full of food.

Daiki almost can't conceive how a life like that could be, he who hardly goes unnoticed in the crowd, with his quasi-two meters height, his dark skin and an ever-growing talent for basketball. He doesn't particularly care, but he can always feel the eyes on him: the awe of the onlookers while they watch him play games; the visceral craving for victory of people like Midorima and Haizaki, who continuously struggle to keep up with him, to finally see him writhe against their abilities; the envy of his resigned teammates that twists their guts with the awareness that they will _never_, ever reach his level; the irritation of his teachers as Satsuki miserably takes his defense for his 'stupid behavior', their unrelenting judgment burning across the classroom as he just shrugs it off, not upset in the slightest. He doesn't revel in any of the attention he receives, but he knows it's there, on his back and face and body.

So Daiki wonders, if Kuroko had a girlfriend, would she see him? Would she notice him wherever he is, her gaze always attracted to his presence, the common traits of his cheekbones and jaw line, the clear, owlish eyes that, in reverse, seem able to see everything the others don't?

Tetsu doesn't seem to mind it like Daiki would expect anyone _really_ normal to do. He takes advantage of his ability in every basketball match more efficiently each day, and he obviously has his own evil fun when he succeeds in giving them repeated heart attacks. Furthermore, 'I don't enjoy attention at all,' he says straightforward as ever when Daiki asks, but Daiki hardly manages to refrain from pointing out that what Kuroko gets is far less than attention; that there's a substantial difference between being easily ignored and completely bypassed like he didn't exist in the first place.

Sometimes, he ponders over the possibility that Tetsu's bluntness is just an act, to let people think he's saying everything he wants to but actually keeping for himself what really matters – but maybe he's thinking too much about it. Maybe, in the end, some of Satsuki's power of insight has finally started to rub off on him. He doesn't even _like_ to think this much.

But at first, Daiki feels guilty. Weeks have passed since their first encounter and he's supposed to be Tetsu's friend by now – he actually thinks Tetsu is slowly becoming his favorite one at the moment and for once Satsuki doesn't have anything to object to in his choice of company. He respects him a lot too, enough to consider Tetsu much more deserving of his attention than other people he can notice all too easily.

So, since they're supposedly friends, shouldn't Daiki be able to acknowledge him? Isn't this the least friends do, acknowledge each other?

And yet, despite how he sometimes tries these days to learn and _see_, he still can't feel his presence; or get used to his unsettling sudden entrances; or even understand that his disappearances are usually not that, but just him moving maybe a meter away in the near space. And when they are on the court – now that Tetsu is on first-string and they don't play alone in an empty gym anymore, now that practice means a court teeming with teammates much more showy than him – trying to pass through the human wall of opponents that halt him, as he searches for a good opportunity to pass, the player in the right position to catch it, Daiki looks out for _him_; but he never finds Tetsu on time, always a moment too late, when he's forced to proceed alone or pass it to someone else – but every time he finally finds him, he sees how Tetsu is always in the perfect place at the perfect time, visible through the breach in the barrier; and he thinks he also sees the barest hint of disappointment in Tetsu's gaze, a faint bitterness in his flexing fingers which never received the pass, and Daiki feels guilt wash over him all over again.

.

.

But it doesn't take Daiki long to realize that most of the time this isn't about not thinking of Tetsu. He is now cautiously approaching the possibility that Tetsu _might_ simply be – if an ability like this can be called 'simple' – almost physically invisible.

The more time passes and the days with Tetsu in the club and the long walks with him and Satsuki on the way home increase, the more Daiki finds himself minding him.

From the way he speaks so politely, saying the plainest or weirdest things with the flattest voice, to his surprising commitment to basketball, from his inexpressiveness to his devastating frankness, for Daiki, Tetsu represents the epitome of unfathomable.

Daiki knows, rationally, that people like Tetsu shouldn't interest him. They never did and never should have and, always rationally speaking, most of the time Tetsu seems to behave in a manner that one would normally define as boring. From the way his classmates treat him when he witnesses a rare episode of small talk with them, Daiki can see it in them, their blatant disinterest towards him, their clear opinion being that he is as plain as he looks. About this, Daiki wonders a lot of things. What Tetsu thinks of them, if he's as disinterested in them as they are in him and why, for the life of him, Daiki isn't able to think of Tetsu as a boring person.

And he is pretty sure not one of the basketball regulars considers him differently. Even Akashi, who treats everyone as his underlings, seems to harbor a soft spot for the boy – but maybe, he tells himself, that's because the basketball club managed to gather together the _weirdest_ bunch of people who could be found within the school grounds. Maybe the weird is bound to stick with the weird.

Anyway, despite all his efforts Daiki still has serious problems with Tetsu's misdirection ability – because really, everything does revolve around it in the very end.

One day Daiki is in the cafeteria, munching his lunch away and sitting, for a rare change, near the rest of the basketball regulars. It was Satsuki who persuaded him into avoiding the roof that day but Daiki regrets having given in so easily the moment he plops down in his chair.

While Murasakibara stuffs epic amounts of food in his mouth without ever breaking the rhythm, as if he was worried the food was going to disappear at any second from his tray, Midorima picks at his food like the fussy guy he is and Akashi refrains from nourishing his body in favor of reading a mysterious stack of densely written papers. Beside them, Haizaki is discussing, probably for the sole sake of hearing his own voice, how he succeeded in sweeping his new girl out of her ex-boyfriend's arms. None of them – although Midorima's brows are suspiciously twitchy – bothers enough to tell him to stop shooting his mouth off.

Daiki mentally insults Tetsu for having inexplicably evaporated right before lunch break and for a moment, he rapidly scans the hall with hopeful eyes—but no such thing as a mop of light blue hair among the crowd. He isn't surprised.

When Haizaki blurts out a particularly nasty detail about his deeds, Daiki groans around his mouthful of yakisoba and goes back to regretting Tetsu's absence. 'If he was here, I at least wouldn't have to listen to Haizaki talking shit,' he thinks. 'Fuck, if Tetsu was here he would surely say _something_ to him, like—'

"Haizaki-kun, I find you unusually annoying today."

A chorus of shrieks rises from their table, Daiki almost spitting the juice out of his mouth and directly in Satsuki's face for the scare, and everyone temporarily forgets about Haizaki.

(The only ones who don't seem fazed by the umpteenth misuse of Kuroko's abilities are Satsuki, god only knows how, and Akashi, who, as his justification, is Akashi and carries on with his reading as if a minor, collective heart attack hadn't just taken place around him. But a suspicious half-assed smile graces his thin lips, similar to the one Midorima sports once overcoming his shock, as everyone notices how Haizaki has finally stopped talking. The latter doesn't look pleased at all but keeps silent anyways and that's the important thing.)

"_God_, Tetsu," Daiki exclaims, his heart still pounding heavily in his chest, looking at his teammate who's sitting quietly in the chair beside him. "Say something if you're there!"

"I just said something," Tetsu deadpans, always keeping his trademark, and very unnerving, coolness.

"Yeah, but I meant—since when were you here anyway?" Daiki inquires.

"He's always been here," Satsuki answers in his place and when Daiki shoots her an accusing look, she flails her hands in front of her in defense. "Because he was right in front of me!"

"I'm sorry to have scared you," says Tetsu, but Daiki, in his growing experience and knowledge over the deceiving mono-expressivity of one Kuroko Tetsuya, detects an amused light in his limpid eyes and Daiki isn't sure that Tetsu is as sorry about it as he claims.

That's when Daiki finally decides that it is _not_ his fault, at least not completely, and that being able to see Kuroko has less to do with wanting to see him than he previously thought. And with that, something inside him relaxes in the new-found relief that maybe, he's not as a shitty friend as he feels.

And yet he doesn't feel like it is enough at all.

That afternoon, during practice, Daiki watches Tetsu play.

Sat on the bench, drying his sweat during the short break Akashi has ordered him to take, he really looks at him, how he plays, the way his body moves dodging the opponents on the court, as if he knows exactly where he'll be needed one, two seconds later to divert the ball in the right direction. He has the style of a playmaker and his ability to predict what's going to happen gets visibly better the more he comes to know his own team. But even focusing all his attention on him, sometimes Daiki catches himself staring at empty space, Tetsu no longer there but some meters away, the ball brushing his hands for a fraction of second before leaving in the opposite direction.

He's so absorbed in the game that Haizaki, sat next to him on the bench, has to repeat his name thrice.

"What the hell, Aomine," he says, clearly annoyed by the lack of response and not used to being ignored, "what's got you so wrapped up?"

"Tetsu," he blurts out without thinking and, predictably, Haizaki catches the chance to be a prick and directs towards him a puzzled glance and a sneer.

"Gay."

"Shut up," Daiki says, and he's on the verge of falling into the usual trap and adding some witty remark, because Haizaki so fucking _deserves_ it – Haizaki looks at him expectantly, like he's just waiting for it – but he stops mid-breath.

The insult Haizaki waits for never comes. Daiki really wants to watch Tetsu play, this time.

.

.

If not for Tetsu's sake, at least in order to avoid dying young from the umpteenth unpredictable heart attack, Daiki starts with pretending that Tetsu is always there.

He stops wondering 'where is he', and just forces himself to answer automatically with the certainty that Tetsu is beside him.

Because if he isn't able to keep an eye on Tetsu, he might as well get used to the idea that, even if he doesn't see him, Tetsu's most likely around.

To his utter surprise, he discovers that it comes to him a lot easier than expected, but that's probably because at that point Tetsu _is_ always beside him.

And he begins to see the results of his personal mental training the next week.

Except for Akashi, who stays behind for unfathomable reasons as usual, they're all gathered outside the gym, exhausted from Akashi's tight training schedule, and they talk about passing by Maji Burger to lay in stockpiles of food for the way home – not surprisingly, it's Murasakibara who suggests it – when Satsuki asks, lost, "And Kuroko-kun?"

And long before Tetsu can answer that, making everyone jump ten feet in the air, Daiki spins on instinct, glancing over his shoulder and pointing his thumb before he can think and, just like that, he locks eyes with Tetsu, who nowadays almost seems to consciously choose strategic positions for his impressive appearances, as if he already knows for sure no one will notice him.

Daiki doesn't know how to interpret the long look Tetsu gives him then.

'I knew you were there,' Daiki wants to say to him, but doesn't, and Tetsu lets himself be pulled along by a pestering Satsuki who, pressing a hand over her heart, pleads with him not to behave like that.

.

.

Daiki fully realizes the true advantages of what he's trying to do once they're on the basketball court.

He and Tetsu are together against Murasakibara, Midorima and Haizaki this time, and the human barrier is more insurmountable than usual, with Murasakibara towering like a menacing statue under the hoop and Midorima and Haizaki constantly in front of him, ready to steal the ball at the barest distraction. He looks around, wanting to pass the ball, when he understands he can't lose any more time searching for someone he won't see, so he just throws the ball where he hopes – believes – Tetsu is.

And when he finally locates his teammate, the ball is already in Tetsu's hands as he runs towards the hoop and Daiki suddenly can't stop smiling, so hard his cheeks threaten to rip open and—before he knows it, the ball falls back into his hands during his jump for the hoop and he slams it in.

The end of the game feels like an epiphany to him.

"What the fuck." Haizaki breathes raggedly at the end of the game, staring at the final score like he can't actually believe it. "I knew you were a monster. But this," he points aggressively at the board, "this is ridiculous."

"I'd like to agree," says Midorima, wiping his glasses clean meticulously. "I hate to admit it, but you played… surprisingly well, this time. But then again, Oha Asa's horoscope did warn me today would be full of surprises."

"Kudos, Kurochin," drawls Murasakibara, more relaxed due to the substitution Akashi had ordered somewhere around the third quarter. He rubs his enormous hand on Tetsu's head and Tetsu almost bends in half from the strength of the action, "You were very good at whatever you were doing."

"This," intervenes Akashi, detaching himself from the wall where he had been staying, judging the match he had arranged, "is exactly what I was aiming for." He watches them knowingly, as if he has insight on something grand they still cannot fathom, before going back to dictate orders for the remaining minutes of practice; Daiki has the feeling he's just received some kind of blessing.

He is still smiling hard when he approaches Tetsu and raises his fist. "Good job, partner."

Tetsu's breathing is very labored but he too has a small smile on his face, so sincere and just plain content that Daiki thinks that for once, maybe, he has done something _right_.

They bump fists together and then, because Daiki is so pumped up by their splendid victory that he can't stop himself, he catches Tetsu's head in a headlock and rubs his fingers on top of it, ignoring Tetsu's half-hearted protests and deadpan complaints.

Later, when Akashi leaves him with the task of putting the basketballs away, he remains alone in the gym.

He walks through the court, still engrossed in reliving the best moments of the last game. He's so lost in thoughts and replays of his and Tetsu's coordinated moves that he forgets he should still be alone, Tetsu having walked into the locker room with the others. Instead, his brain unconsciously sets Tetsu to picking up the balls with him, right behind Daiki because that's where he usually finds him; because 'I don't like showering with the loud mass', Tetsu always reminds him.

"_Man_, our play was so _perfect_ today." He bends down to grab a ball. "Catch it," he says distractedly, while he throws it over his shoulders and it is only once the ball is rolling in the air Daiki grasps that he must be talking to himself and that he has just randomly thrown a ball, only believing in someone else's habit and an unexplainable feeling. He almost chuckles to himself.

But when he doesn't hear the distinctive sound of the ball bouncing back on the floor, Daiki jerks around and _does_ find Tetsu in front of him, wearing the most astounded face he's ever seen on him – which is not much, him being Tetsu and all, but Daiki isn't sure he will have the chance to admire such a blatant expression ever again. He looks confused, as though he doesn't really know what he is doing in the middle of the court with a basketball in his hands, and when the realization of having managed to astonish Tetsu, of all people, hits Daiki, he can't help being shocked as well in return.

It is an awkward moment, all in all.

"I came here to help you…" Tetsu tries, hesitantly, like he's not sure of that himself anymore; he opens his mouth once more, but shuts it the second after. If Daiki didn't know better, he would say Tetsu's face is flushed with _embarrassment_. Daiki looks at him as the boy, still perplexed, makes the ball spin on his index finger and says, "I'm putting it away," before turning around.

Daiki beams at his retreating back.

.

.

With time, Daiki learns to trust his other senses and stops relying too much on what his sight tries to tell him. He understands that it is, after all, like everything else, a matter of practice. He becomes able to perceive Tetsu's presence most of the time, sometimes hearing the soft squeaking of shoes, sometimes catching him out of the corner of his eyes, sometimes just through plain instinct Daiki isn't even able to explain, and then he just needs to glance at his side to confirm Tetsu's elusive position. And on the court, it's mostly a matter of mutual trust.

But there are some vaguely comical cons of being used to trusting Tetsu to be where he wants him all the time, some situations or things or places that make him act on pure reflex.

Like one time, when Daiki is going home alone because Satsuki has a medical appointment and Tetsu managed to get sick coming back from their off-school training session at the hot springs – not to mention his incessant fainting that degenerated into near-drowning experiences nearly every time. It had been a tiring weekend for Daiki's heart.

He stops at Maji Burger on the way. Entering the place, he walks, quick-paced, towards the cashier and orders three hamburgers and a vanilla milkshake. When he doesn't hear Tetsu's voice reprimanding him – 'I can order by myself, Aomine-kun,' and he always answers the same way, the words ready on his tongue, 'remember that time it took a minute for the cashier to notice you and that was just because you started doing stupid things with your jacket. Just let me do it, okay?' – he becomes aware of his mistake. But he doesn't correct it.

When he walks out of the fast food joint, with the cup of milkshake in his hand, he vaguely wonders if he has enough will to pass by Tetsu's house to saddle him with the drink.

As he thinks about the mistake again during the trip home, he laughs heartily.

.

.

Long after that, Daiki discovers that ceasing to believe Tetsu is there with him is _much_ harder.

Even when they haven't seen each other for three whole months and the first day of high school rolls around the corner, foreboding with more boredom and perpetual disinterest, a part of him still keeps trusting a habit more than the clear reality that reigns, gaunt, in his head.

Daiki firmly believes he doesn't really care if Tetsu quit basketball or not, in the long run; he stopped caring about anything long ago and Tetsu can do whatever the hell he wants with his stupid ideals and only supporting abilities. What he doesn't believe is Tetsu ever coming back to his side, or Satsuki's words as she scolds him saying it was his own fault Tetsu drifted away and that he always wants everything and nothing at the same time, as if that makes any fucking sense. He doesn't trust anyone's words about basketball becoming fun again because even the Generation of Miracles is bound to lose to him; even for them there will come a time they'll surrender. And he believes Tetsu deserves his anger more than anyone else. Persuading him to keeping playing basketball, saying there will be someone strong enough for him one day, urging him not to give up and then—he had almost given up first three years before, he was the first to give up now.

And why? What the fuck does little hypocritical Tetsu know about being too good at the game you've lived for since you could walk on your legs? What does he know about having to stop training because if not, you will reach a level no one could even approach? He should have been the one quitting basketball, not Tetsu.

But maybe he doesn't care about any of this too; he just wants the constant shadow of a past presence to stop being there.

During the long, boring third year's last months, he had never stopped knowing where Tetsu was, perceiving his nearness. But at one point, everything had fallen down between them. They didn't share any common hobbies anymore, so he stopped talking to him, stopped passing to him – what was the point of doing that, when the victory was already something to be taken for granted, so bitter and unsatisfactory? At least like this he could vaguely enjoy some lonely practice with the ball. He didn't even feel the difference between playing alone and playing against someone anymore.

And at first he couldn't stand Tetsu, because he sucked and couldn't understand and yet, he looked at him sometimes, crestfallen, bitter and disappointed—as if it was his own fault everyone sucked at basketball compared to him. So he had started to avoid his eyes, his face and then his presence, to the point where it didn't really seem to make a difference if he was there or not. He had stopped caring.

But despite all of this, there are just some things that are too imprinted in his mind, triggers in the simplest of sounds, like the squeaking of shoes, a quiet intake of breath, or in the most obvious places, a roof, Maji Burger, that makes him react long before he even thinks to stop himself. He turns around, on instinct. But no one is there anymore. No one ever is.

Satsuki talks incessantly at his side as he pulls the last coins he has for the vending machine in front of him out of his pocket – something about waking up late on the first day of school.

He is not listening, of course, having tuned her out after her very first string of words and inspects the narrow choice of available drinks.

But Satsuki, feeling ignored, gets louder, and Daiki can't even concentrate on a stupid fucking choice.

"Oh _god_, you're so fucking annoying today," he snaps, jamming the numbered buttons with his index finger. "If I don't want to go, I _won't_. Te—"

'Tetsu, tell her something' is what he's about to say, but he stops, his head glancing to his left and finding empty space, the words chocking him like a blade piercing his windpipe and he's only glad that he stopped soon enough for Satsuki not to hear them.

A can rolls down unnecessarily noisily and he bends down to grab it.

He doesn't even realize he has bought Pocari – he remembers how he used to buy Tetsu's drink first, when he was uncertain about his own choice – until he turns it in his hand and reads the name in bold, white letters.

He almost crushes it between his trembling fingers before he violently throws it in the nearest trash bin, where it bangs loudly against the metal bottom.

"Fucking machine," he snarls, and he walks away with Satsuki, now suspiciously quiet, in tow.

This time, he doesn't laugh.

* * *

**Aka, the story where Aomine never jerked off for three years because he had the feeling Tetsu was always in the room.**


End file.
